


out there in the weather

by ohtempora



Category: Push (2009)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, New Year's Eve, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-12 11:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora
Summary: They flew into New York two days ago and it snowed.





	out there in the weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [failsafe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/failsafe/gifts).



> happy yuletide!

Cassie kisses Nick on the boardwalk halfway between Coney Island and Brighton Beach as the clock hits midnight, fireworks bright and exploding overhead.

She bought new heeled boots for the occasion but she still has to stand on her toes to reach his mouth. Nick is so warm, curled up in a henley and a wool jacket, and she wraps her gloved hands around the lapels and holds on.

Coney Island for New Year's was his idea. They were going to go to Times Square, blend into the crowds, hide out among the tourists. But it didn't feel right, and they booked a shitty hotel room out in Queens by the airport, and then Nick said, 'This is a crazy fucking idea and it's probably going to be freezing."

Cassie said, "What? I'm not doing a polar bear plunge, it's not like we're doing that."

"No.” Nick groaned. ‘I mean, I'd be down to try it once, but no."

They flew into New York two days ago and it snowed. They've been in warm places, mostly, with one notable December spent in Berlin when Cassie was sixteen, and she pressed her face to the hotel room window like a little kid. Nick watched for a moment and then he said, "We can go outside, you know."

He threw a snowball at her, scooping snow off a planter on the street. Cassie could have dodged it, but she let it hit her, square in the hip, ducking her head and laughing. 

Coney Island's actually turned out a decent crowd for their party. Nick was here a decade ago, but he visited in the summer. Now it’s winter, and the rides are eerie, neon-lit and still. But people are in the brewery, huddled on the boardwalk in puffer jackets, laughing and celebrating and waiting for the countdown to start.

They brought champagne, purchased from a cheap liquor store by their hotel and wrapped in a brown paper bag. It's stashed in Nick's jacket. They grab food, walk around through the groups of people, and finally Nick says, "Hey, what if we just— go."

Cassie raises her eyebrows. "To Times Square?"

"No. Plus we would have had to leave for there like, five hours ago. Ten hours, if we wanted a good spot." She smirks at him, and he rolls his eyes and continues. "I mean, we can just walk a bit."

She shoves her hands into her pockets. "Yeah. Sounds nice."

The wind bites, the further away they get from Coney Island. There's more lights in the distance straight ahead, but to their right is the Atlantic. Cold grey sand, and then black water, stretching as far as the eyes can see.

It's 11:45.

Nick says, "Every year I'm like, my New Year's resolution is for all this shit to be over. And then I have to pick something more realistic."

Cassie wishes her automatic response wasn't to laugh, except Nick laughs with her.

"I thought, if we came here, we'd die. Being back in the US. That it'd be dangerous."

"I think everywhere is dangerous now." They're working with good people, stronger Specials, a whole team. Not one punkass teenager and one fucked up guy alone on their own. It helps— Cassie only sees them dying about thirty percent of the time. There’s a plan to spill everything to the media, some big takedown of Division. Cassie said she’d talk, if needed. If it came to that. That's their plan for the new year.

Still— she’s tired of seeing them dying. Of seeing her body prone, Nick spread-eagle, bleeding out.

“I bet it’s nice here in July,” she says.

Nick smiles, a weird, sad one. “Yeah,” he says. “But it’s been a long time since then.”

Cassie doesn’t know what to say to that, so she reaches out, and slips her hand into his. Nick lets her, lacing their fingers together, brushing his thumb against her palm.

“Glad you made it here with me,” he says.

They keep walking. It gets quieter as they go, as the sounds of the celebration fade into the distance, until all they can hear is the whoosh of the ocean lapping at the shore. The only light is Coney Island behind them, and the street lights casting shadows on the boardwalk.

“What time is it?” Cassie asks eventually.

Nick checks his watch. “Seven more minutes,” he says.

She doesn’t want to walk back to the party. Still, she asks. He shakes his head no.

“Four more minutes,” Nick says eventually.

“Maybe it will be over next year,” Cassie says. “I only know what happens some of the time. The future’s always changing. It could— I haven’t seen anything that says we _don’t_ win.”

Nick rolls his head on his neck, presses a hand against what must be a sore muscle. “Hey,” he says. “Cassie.”

His tone of voice is changed, lower and more serious, and Cassie looks at him. “Yeah?”

“I know you can’t tell what’s going to happen,” Nick says. “And that we’re always— you know, joking about how we could die, how half the futures you see we’re dead, because that’s— I don’t know how the fuck else to deal with it.” He closes his eyes, then opens them. He’s looking right at her and she meets it. “Nevertheless. If this goes to shit and we do die, then I’m glad that all this time it’s been you. That you found me and knocked on my door like some skinny ghost when you were thirteen.”

“And freaked you out.”

“And freaked me out,” Nick says. He smiles. “Yep. And you’re still a skinny ghost, for the record.”

She smiles back at him, her shoulders dropping, and Nick looks down at his watch and says, “Hey, it’s almost midnight.” And she leans in so they can count the last fourteen seconds down together, practically yelling out the “five— four— three— two— one—” and then the fireworks explode back at Coney Island and she stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his.

It’s warm, and familiar, and she feels heat curl up in her stomach. Nick kisses her back. She clings to him and he wraps his big hands around her waist, squeezes; she can feel it through her puffy down jacket. His stubble scratches, and Cassie sighs against his mouth and parts her lips. They can hear the fireworks, the cheering. Happy New Year.

She kisses him for such a long time, keeping her eyes closed, thinking about how safe she feels.

They break apart, because they have to breathe, and stare at each other with wide eyes, and Cassie looks down at Nick’s red, red mouth.

“Is this something you saw?” Nick asks, finally, his voice rough.

“No,” Cassie says. She’s being honest. “I never—I just decided.”

“You wanted to?”

“Yeah. Yes.” She meets his eyes, then slips her hand into his. “I did.”

“What about—” Nick’s voice cracks. “What about the future?”

“I don’t know.” She laces their fingers together. “I’m sure I’ll see. But it’s the two of us in it.”

“Only dying half the time?”

“Maybe even less.” Cassie stands on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek, because she wants to, because she can. His beard scrapes against her lips.

“Happy New Year,” Nick says, and then he laughs. “Start as you want to end it, right?”

“I hope so,” she says. They walk back to Coney Island, and get Nathan’s hot dogs to finish off the night, and watch the end of the fireworks in the frozen winter sky. They go back to their hotel in Queens and lie next together each other in bed, and listen to each other breathe.

She sketches the two of them in the morning, wrapped in the complimentary bathrobe, hand flashing across the page. The two of them, standing on a beach in front of a forbidding black scribble of the ocean, hand in hand, watching the fireworks.

“That looks good,” Nick says, peering over her shoulder, and Cassie leans back into him.

“Yeah,” she says. “I think it is.”


End file.
